


Generating Tags for Kent Parson's Birthday Bash

by audiaphilios



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Implied threesomes, M/M, Multi, Other, References to Canon, potential triggers re: anxiety depression and kent parson, therapy animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audiaphilios/pseuds/audiaphilios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are so unthinkable, they've not even been shipped on AO3 yet. I'm here to fix that.</p><p>(The mission turned into fiction, I'm keeping the title anyway.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idrilka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilka/gifts).



> There are some terrible, wonderful things I'd like to see in the 4th of July Kent Parson fic exchange. Unfortunately, I can't tag these things in AO3 yet, so I'm testing out if I can make those tags appear by posting this, a "story" about how much I need Patater fics, and also big dork love with Parse, Ransom, and Holster.
> 
> Also all the soft-bro cat love between Kent Parson and Kit Purrson. This is how it's gotta be, y'all.
> 
> AUDIA OUT.
> 
> AUDIA IN.
> 
> I have returned to add a little bit of actual fic regarding the pairings mentioned in the title, because I have been informed that non-fic things may disappear into the ether. I take no credit for generating these ships, because that's all tumblr's fault. I just want to see more of them in the fic exchange, so here, have these three ficlets.

Tater meets Kent when the Falconers play the Aces in Las Vegas. Tater and Zimmboni room together on the road, and Zimmboni is clearly on edge about something going into this game.

Tater may be a giant, and incredibly friendly, and English is definitely not his first language, but he is by no means an idiot. He's put two and two together about Zimmboni's "girlfriend" and the little blond baker that showed up with pie when the Samwell hockey team came to a game. He just doesn't feel it's his place to confront anyone and force confessions, so he keeps up the pretense for his teammate's sake when others are around. When they're alone, he no longer says a thing when his friend's phone rings and his eyes go soft.

In Las Vegas, though, something else is happening. Jack had a different frown on his face when he hung up with his little baker. Not his usual "I don't want to say goodbye but I need to focus on hockey" frown, but something that focused more between his eyebrows. Tater wishes he'd brought up what he'd noticed before, because then he'd feel much less awkward sitting down on the bed next to him, one long arm around his shoulder.

"You have fight with little baker?"

That, at least, startles the frown out of Zimmboni's face for a moment, followed by a flash of panic and then a deeper frown.

"No, we didn't--he's not--she's--"

"Hush, Zimmboni. Is okay. Everything okay with little blond one, the hockey player, yes?"

Jack is silent for a moment, and Alexei can see the way he focuses on his breathing, the way he tenses each muscle group slowly before relaxing them. He takes a deep breath and finally looks up.

"Yes, he's fine, we're fine. Well, he's just. He's worried about me. I am, too. A bit."

Alexei's on his guard immediately.

"You sick? You hurt?"

"No, no. It's just. How much do you know about me? I mean, about before I--before I signed on with the Falconers?"

Alexei shrugs.

"Nothing real. I see your name, your family, but," he shrugs again. "Nothing real."

Jack takes another deep breath.

"Well, one of the Aces. I used to be. Friends, with him. Before. We... don't get along, really. It's not... healthy, for us to be around one another."

Tater's seen Jack after a loss, but he's never seen his friend look defeated. He feels his jaw tighten.

"He hurt you?"

"No, euh, he's not really a bad guy. It's just between the two of us, our history. We don't know how not to fight, and I'm tired of fighting." Jack glances at the phone in his hand, a deep breath sounding more like a sigh gusting from him. He smiles, a little, when the screen lights up with a text message. Looking back up at Tater, he says, "I've gotten used to not fighting."

Tater clasps his shoulder in one big hand, then pulls his arm back from around Jack to clap him soundly on the back.

"Is good, then. I am your D-man. I am--how does school team say? I am having your back!"

Jack grins, then, and Tater feels like he's succeeded in his mission. Then Jack's smile falters, becomes smaller, but his eyes are not sad.

"Zimmboni, you good?"

"Thank you, Tater. Alexei. For everything."

"Is no problem, Zimmboni. You can pay me back in pie!"

They laugh, then Jack notices the time and the pre-game rush is on.

_/_X_\\_

Tater isn't familiar with the stories about Jack before he joined the Falconers, but he doesn't have to be, with the way the news has been covering this game. Kent Parson, captain of the Aces, is clearly going to be the man in Tater's sights tonight. Looking at the smaller man, seeing the way he knocks shoulders with Jack as they wait for the faceoff, Tater thinks he will have quite a good time with this. He gives Zimmboni a wolfish grin, then the refs arrive, the puck drops, and the game begins.

_/_X_\\_

After the game, Jack is unable to talk his way out of the afterparty--the Falconers are in Vegas, after all, and just beat the Aces on their home turf 3-1. They're heading to the nightclub that is one of the Aces' biggest sponsors, and will have to play nice for at least a couple of hours. Tater watches Jack at the post-game presser, seeing the hockey robot coming out more and more as the questions drag on. Afterwards, however, the tension in his shoulders ratchets down noticeably when Alexei throws his arm across them and leans in.

"Your back, Zimmboni. On ice or off."

At the club, Tater sticks close to Jack's side, sending Guy to bring them drinks. Guy, at least, can be trusted more than Snowy to actually fetch back a club soda for Jack with no additives. At his side, Jack's hand is twitching towards his phone. Alexei grabs his drink away.

"Talk to your baker, Zimmboni. I keep eye for you while you type."

Alexei's never seen the man look more grateful.

Not a minute after Jack's eyes leave the crowd, however, Kent Parson comes sauntering up.

Alexei flings his arms wide, a smile on his face as he douses Jack with club soda and announces, "Captain Parson!"

Jack sputters for a minute, trying to make sure his phone is dry. Before Kent can get a word out, Tater is flinging an arm around his shoulder.

"Zimmboni! Go dry off! Clean up! I have questions for Captain Parson!" He gives the smaller man a squeeze. "You not hurt too badly, yes? I smash you good tonight, but you so quick!"

Jack's already disappeared from his peripherals as he finishes his spiel, so he focuses on the man tucked neatly beneath his arm, giving him another squeeze. Startled eyes meet his, and he squints his eyes and ducks in closer, trying to figure out what color they are.

"You are one terrifying man, Mashkov." He delivers the line flat-out, but there's a sneaking smile on his face.

Delighted, Alexei swings the man in closer and brings his other hand up to tousle the ridiculous blond hair.

"Is good, no? Not scared? Call me Tater!"

"Tater?"

"Like tiny potatoes!" And yes, there it is-- a laugh. Alexei draws the man in front of him, both hands on his shoulders. "You are okay, yes?"

Kent runs a hand through his hair, trying to get it tousled properly, not whichever way Tater's enormous hands have mussed it.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thought you had it out for me all night, though."

A small smile creeps onto Tater's face, and a dangerous look in his eye.

"Some men I see, they just need to be against the boards. And I protect my teammates. Right, Captain?"

A bit tellingly, Kent's eyes dart to Tater's right, where Jack had been standing, before he meets the taller man's gaze. His eyebrow shoots up, and his gaze traces carefully over Tater's face.

"Right," he says.

Tater's hands squeeze his shoulders, not hard, and then let go. Tater thinks he sees a flash of disappointment in the shorter man's eyes.

"I wasn't going to start anything with Jack," Kent starts, but Tater cuts him off, one hand coming back up to Kent's shoulder as Tater watches his eyes.

"Jack says with you two, things not needing started." He tightens his hand again, watching Kent's face closely. "Maybe time things finished." Tater watches a kind of awareness dawn, and pays too much attention to the lip that's drawn beneath Kent's teeth with a deep breath.

"Things have been over there for a long time, you know."

Alexei's head tilts.

"How over?"

A glint flashes in Kent's eyes, a challenge, as he reaches up to grasp Tater's wrist.

"I could show you."

Alexei squeezes one more time, a bit tighter, just to watch the pleasure flare up again before he removes his hand.

"Is good," he says, and follows as Kent turns and walks away.


	2. R+H+P

Kent saunters back down the stairs, fuming but determined not to show it. He hates how easily Jack makes him lose his cool, how easily he finds it in himself to attack someone else like that. He hates how much he still cares about his friend, even if they'll never be more than that again. Even if they'll never be that much again.

He needs a drink, and he seems to remember that there's something promising called "tub juice" floating around this hovel.

_/_X_\\_

He's just filled his cup with the vile concotion when he hears his name. The voice is booming, but it's clearly not speaking to him. Taking a big swig and topping up again, he listens closely. It doesn't seem like the guy is talking about him, really, either. It's not until another voice chimes in, clearly Canadian but with what he has no doubt now is "Jack" intonation, that he realizes what's going on. 

They're reading the fanfiction.

He tosses back the tub juice and fills up again, because he has what just might be the greatest idea.

_/_X_\\_

Ransom and Holster are just getting into the good bits of their dramatic reading whent their audience falls silent. It takes a few beats for them to notice, but it's not hard to follow the horrified gazes. Standing directly behind them, snapback angled just so, is Kent freakin' Parson, the unwitting star of their two-man show.

"Oh, don't stop now. You're just getting to the good part."

Somewhere in the background, they can hear Lardo cackling as flashes start going off. Any minute now they'll remember how to close their mouths.

"I think the author's not much experience with male anatomy-- or at least gay sex, given the position-- but that might just be the quality of the writing. I'm sure it's possible...if you're bendy enough."

Ransom and Holster look at one another. Look down at the iPad. Look at one another again and then back at Kent. Kent flippin' Parson. Stanley Cup winner Kent Parson who has evidently read fanfiction about himself. They speak as one when they say:

"Brooooo."

Kent arches an eyebrow, and then looks at the crowd of people that has clearly diminished since the thought occurred to them that Kent flippin' Parson might remember their faces when he thinks back to the people who were listening, entranced, to a fictional story about him boning Jack Zimmermann. Or, well, to be technically accurate, Jack boning him.

When he turns his gaze on them, even more trickle away from the edges of the crowd. The chick who beat him at flip cup is still there, with a shit-eating grin on her face. She raises her phone and mouths the word "video". He replies with "later". She grins and herds the rest of the people away, bellowing about tub juice pong.

"Well, fellas, it's been nice seeing you."

"No, wait!" The huge blond seems to have gotten his voice back first. He glances around, noticing the absence of other people, then pushes his friend's mouth closed. That seems to snap him out of his stupor.

"Bro, man, Parson."

"Kent." Kent's got a smile on his face now.

"Kent." These two have got the weirdest synchronization Kent's ever seen, but he can't deny the appeal of hearing his voice whispered with awe from two hot men. Maybe it's the tub juice getting to him, but he's more amused now than he's been all night, and he's more than ready to accept his own terrible ideas.

"You were saying?" he asks the blond.

Another silent communication occurs between the two men. A smile spreads across their faces, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little turned on as they took a step closer.

"So. Just how bendy would you have to be for that position to work?"

Kent licks his lips as the men move past him and towards the staircase, brushing against him on either side. He thinks about what it might feel like to be more than brushed, and heads up the stairs for the second time tonight. Jack's bedroom door is closed, and the little blond is gone, and Kent decidedly does not give a fuck as he ascends to the attic.


	3. Soft-Bro Cat Love

Kit isn't officially a therapy animal.

She's not officially a therapy animal, but she may as well be the one responsible for making the sun rise, because she's sure as hell the only reason Kent makes it out of bed some days. During the long, slow days of summer especially, when he doesn't have the bracing weight of responsibility to lean his mind against and he's inclined to sleep in later and later, she'll rouse him with a sharp, loving nip to the underside of his bicep, where the skin is thinnest and sure to get a reaction.

He had to start sleeping with a shirt on because of that cat and her keen sense of tender places.

 

Kit has become his tender places.

Lying in bed, watching tape on his tablet, she'll rest a paw against his face and remind him that he needs to eat, too. On the days where he feels too untethered to risk leaving the house, he'll layer himself in clothes like armor, wield his snapback and a smile, and venture forth just to make sure she's got the food she likes so much. He thinks about her little face and grabs himself a smoothie while he's out, a hearty soup, a sandwich.

He's got to take care of himself, for her.

 

Kit forces him take care of himself.

He's no longer able to leave dirty clothes scattered around his room, or clean clothes heaped up in the corner where he dropped the load after finally doing the laundry. She's trained him to put them away immediately through the expedient process of pissing on anything he leaves lying out. She doesn't piss outside the litterbox on any other occasion, just when he lets his space become untidy. She seems to know better than he does what the tells are, and she is impossible to get mad at, even though he makes a ready target of himself. And when his cat knows him better than he knows himself, well.

He's started going to therapy because of her.

 


End file.
